It's been a while I know... I'm sorry. Better late than never though! Enjoy and please review!

Mycroft Holmes wasn't shocked when he heard the door to his office swing open without notice at this hour. He knew who it would be though, he'd been expecting him about now.

"Sherlock" he said without looking up from his paper, a slight smile on his face. His brother grunted in response. When Mycroft finally looked up, he wasn't surprised by what he saw.

"So I take it the little meeting with John didn't go to plan? Judging by your poorly set bloody nose I take it that it didn't go well at all, little brother"

Sherlock dabbed at his nose with the clump of tissue in his hand, "Shut up, Mycroft. He just needs to let me explain everything, that's all"

"Did you really think that you would show up and everything would be fine?" he leant back in his chair, placing his hands together.

"Well, I expected some anger, but overall I suppose I did"

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, can tell who a murderer is by the slightest of clues, and yet the human emotions still baffle him... I did warn you" he chuckled and how naive his brother was being.

"Really? I don't seem to recall" he said sarcastically.

"Yes. When we first began all of this business, I told you that it wouldn't be easy to win John over, that you couldn't just stroll in and expect him to come running at the drop of a hat... Anyway, why come to me?"

"Well you're the only one I can speak to about thi-"

"I know you've told the Detective Inspector, you fool"

"Right. Well you're the only one that won't become emotionally compromised by having a conversation with me"

"Hm. Talk to him, Sherlock"

"I've tried"

"Then, try again, brother. Gosh, do I need to do everything for you?"

"Are you coming to bed, love?" Mary asked, walking into the front room, a fully dressed John still perched on the sofa.

No answer. He was just staring into space, his hands poised together in front of his face, as Sherlock often did.

"John? Talk to me, please"

Moments passed of more silence.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, uable to hold it in any longer. He sniffed, trying to stop it, but he couldn't. Sobs racked through him silently, John gasping for air between each one, clasping a hand over his mouth. Mary quickly sat down beside him, hugging him close. She didn't say a word, she just held him, stroking his head softly.

"I don't understand, Mary. I don't know what to do" he croaked out once he'd stopped crying so much. He quickly tried to compose himself, as if he was embarrassed that he'd let his guard down.

"Well how are you feeling?"

"What aren't I feeling, Mary? I'm angry. I'm hurt. I used to think and dream about this happening, just after he fell. That I'd wake up and Sherlock would be in the kitchen doing an experiment, alive as anything. That was all I wanted, I thought I would be ecstatic. But no. I don't even know how I'm feeling" John admitted, sitting up a bit more, wiping his face with his hands, "My best friend was dead on a slab not longer than six months ago and now he comes back alive expecting everything to be fine. That machi-" he stopped himself. No matter how angry he was with Sherlock, he had vowed to himself to never call Sherlock that ever again.

"What did he say?" personally she still didn't know how he was even alive, John hadn't said a word since.

"He said he did it all for a reason, that he had been protecting me"

"Well when he said he was protecting you surely he meant when he stopped you being killed?" he'd told her everything about a month ago.

"Why would he waltz off for six months, then? How is that protecting me? I don't understand. I've been in danger with Sherlock more times than I can remember, hell, his middle name is danger"

"Did you tell him what you know, John? What you heard on that recording?"

He had forgotten Sherlock didn't know that he knew, "No"

"Well don't you think you should?"

"Probably"

There was a long silence.

"You know it would have been less trouble if I'd just been shot" he suddenly stated.

"Don't you dare, John Watson. Why say something like that?" Mary reeled, hurt.

"Well it's true. Depression, not eating, not sleeping, going through hell just to have it thrown back at me like a practical joke. Sherlock wouldn't have been so affected if I'd have died, he'd probably be over it in a week, far less trauma, don't you think?" he said rather flippantly.

Slap. John reeled slightly when he realised Mary had slapped him across the face. It didn't really hurt, but he was still bemused. "What was that for?"

"For acting like a self centred bastard, that's why. Firstly, how you can dare say it would be better without you, it wouldn't, okay? I wouldn't even have met you John. And secondly, how you can say Sherlock wouldn't care about you?"

"Well he wouldn't, would he? This was the same man who couldn't understand why a woman was still upset about her stillborn daughter years on. He doesn't do sentiment, Mary"

"Maybe not for others" her voice softened.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You should have seen him John. He was devastated when you stormed off, begging me to get you to come round, said he'd do anything. He is your best friend"

"Was" he corrected.

"No. He still is and you know it. He's never stopped being your best friend, John"

"No. Not after what he did"

"What? Saving your life?"

"No. Faking his death to fool somebody else and not even telling me. All it took was a text. A bloody text"

"I'm sure he has his reasons, John" Mary suggested, knowing this had more to it than met the eye.

"So are you siding with him now?" John asked.

"No, of course not, but I think you need to talk to him. You should know it's not healthy to leave a wound open"

"I know, Mary. I just don't know if I can do it" he admitted.

"You can, John Watson"

John laughed vacantly, "It's funny, I've fought in Afghanistan and still I can't bear to go and talk to somebody"

"You can, John Watson", Mary leant in and kissed John on the cheek, "Now come to bed, please. You need to sleep"

John slid his arm around Mary, squeezing her shoulder, "I'll be through in a minute".

Mary rose to go to the bedroom when John suddenly had a change of heart. He jumped up, grabbing his keys off the coffee table, walking towards the front door.

"Where are you going? John?" Mary came out of the bedroom, confused.

"Off out. I need to do something. Now"

He pushed the key in the lock, turning it. Shutting the door behind him, he headed down the stairs. He was going to find Sherlock, he needed to. He needed answers, he needed closure and although he didn't like to admit it, he still needed Sherlock.

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